


Petals Upon Porcelain

by Prisonerofthemoon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Major Illness, Pining Miya Atsumu, Sad Miya Atsumu, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi, mentioned bokuaka, slight osasuna, suna is the only one with a brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prisonerofthemoon/pseuds/Prisonerofthemoon
Summary: It’s like a bucket of ice water to the face. Atsumu knows what’s coming as he feels the air escape his lungs once again.He's in love with Sakusa.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Miya Atsumu/Hinata Shouyou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 10
Kudos: 514





	Petals Upon Porcelain

**Author's Note:**

> Literally no one asked for this. Not a single person. But I had the thought and I had to write it before my brain exploded. So, enjoy Atsumu being a complete idiot.

It all started with a mild cough. In fact, he hadn’t thought about it much other than some seasonal allergies acting up. It wasn’t abnormal to get some allergies with the changing seasons. Of course, a simple little cough wasn’t going to stop him from playing volleyball, so he went out and bought some allergy medicine and took one pill twice a day. The cough itself subsided for a while, but Atsumu could feel himself getting more and more winded after long rallies. That never used to happen.

He’s always had good endurance. He’s nothing like Hinata, who can scramble around the court like a fiery ball of cosmos, running and leaping and smacking the ball like he would die if he couldn’t at least touch the ball. He was nothing like that, but Atsumu definitely had enough endurance. He was on one of the top collegiate teams, alongside the best of the best. Hell, his main three wing spikers were demons. Hinata was a shining sun at the peak of the summit. Bokuto was a flock of birds, swirling the court to protect his territory. Sakusa was the wind, seemingly from nowhere, precisely whipping the ball to an exact point in space ever so effortlessly with those freaky wrists of his. And Atsumu was their center, the sky itself, giving them every opportunity they needed to score with his precise sets and monstrous serves. 

So, yeah, it was important that he have great endurance. But it was mid-season, and Atsumu was doubled over and wheezing after practice like he had just run up a mountain.

“You okay there, Tsum Tsum? You look like you’re about to fall over!” Bokuto slapped him on the back with that roaring laugh of his, nearly causing him to fall over. Damn spikers. Atsumu held up a hand and waved him off with a breathless laugh.

“Nah, I think we should go again.” He stands back up, accepting the water bottle from the other, as well as a quirked eyebrow.

“Yeah!” They hear Hinata bound over, limbs flying like usual. “Let’s go again! Will you set for me, Atsumu-san?” The sparkle in his eyes wide and desperate. It usually goes like this, ever since Hinata joined the team. Atsumu had thought that he was the only one who practiced so much, but Hinata never wanted to stop. He was like a battery that never ran dry.

“You should take a break if you’re out of breath.” A calm but stiff voice emanates from beside them. Sakusa was normally either quiet, or would butt in for a sly comment filled with his naturally sarcastic, dry wit. Normally, this is where Atsumu would pick a fight with him, drawing out the annoyed glare Sakusa seemed to have reserved solely for him. Instead, Atsumu stuck out his tongue. Sakusa narrowed his eyes.

“Whatever, maybe I need to go for a run more often.” Sakusa rolled his eyes, feigning a look of contempt. Atsumu turned his eyes back to Hinata, who was still looking up at him hopefully. He patted him on the head, laughing. “Not everyone can have this little guy’s energy.”

Hinata faltered at the comment on his height, but sprung back up when Atsumu was already back on the court with a ball in hand, ignoring the hot strike spreading across his chest.

  
  


***

The worst thing was that it kept happening. He found himself struggling to catch his breath more and more during practice, his morning runs cutting short. He woke up frequently in the middle of the night to cough, sometimes just a small one, and other times he would cough so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He had brought it up to Osamu, thinking that his twin would be going through the same ordeal at this time of year, only to be met with a silent shake of the head as he handed over the steaming tray of fatty tuna onigiri.

“What? Ya aren’t gettin’ any allergies?” He asked, perplexed. He licked his lips at the sight and smell of the food. He’d slightly resented his brother for leaving school and volleyball to pursue his own business, but at least it still benefited him somewhat in the end.

“No.” Osamu looked hesitant for a moment before crossing his arms across his chest. “I don’t think allergies should be that rough on ya, either.”

“What are ya sayin?” Atsumu asked between a mouthful of rice and creamy tuna filling. Osamu frowned and threw a napkin at him.

“I’m sayin’ ya should go to the doctor, dumbass.” He filled a glass up with sparkling water and placed that in front of him, which he gladly took a sip of. “You could have something more serious, and with that Adlers game coming up…”

“Oh hell no.” Atsumu said, placing his glass back down on the counter. Onigiri Miya was set up like a normal bar, with a counter for patrons to sit at, along with other tables and booths. Atsumu always opted for the bar, since no one else seemed to frequent it, and he normally came solely for the purpose of annoying his brother. Well, and the free food, of course.

“There is no way in hell I’m going to a doctor for a  _ cough _ .” Atsumu has hated doctors ever since he was little. Something about them always probing at him, shoving things in his mouth and ears, hitting his knees with a rubber mallet. Then, they’d tap at their little computers and have some kind of diagnosis? That’s psychotic.

Osamu sighed, letting the topic fade. He cleaned his hands with a dishcloth and then tossed it across his shoulder, leaning against the counter. “How’s the team looking, anyway?”

“Oh, they’re great.” Atsumu took another bite, ignoring the twinge of disgust on his brother’s face as he chewed. He made sure to swallow this time again before talking. “Hinata is as fast as ever, and I think that quick attack we’ve been working on is even better than when he was on Karasuno. Bo-kun is as great as ever. Ya know him and that setter from his high school team are datin? What was his name again…”

“Ya mean Akaashi-kun?” Osamu perked up. “He’s in here every day. Loves onigiri, I guess. Always buys an extra one or two and asks us to shape ‘em like hearts.”

Atsumu scoffed, thinking of the squealing coos Bokuto would probably make when Akaashi brings those to him after practice. “Now,  _ that’s _ cheesy. Good for them, though. Imagine if you did that for Suna.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Osamu rolled his eyes, shrugging it off. “We’re not gushy like that. He probably wouldn’t even notice.” Atsumu eyed his brother. He may put up a bored mask like this, but deep down, he knows his brother wants those types of romantic gestures. There’s a beat of silence.

“How’s Sakusa-kun doing?” Osamu asks suddenly, and Atsumu raises an eyebrow.

“He’s as perfect as always.” He starts, but when Osamu just blinks at him, he continues on. “I mean, the guy is the MVP of collegiate volleyball. He doesn’t miss a single toss I give to him. He criticizes the crap out of my sets sometimes, though.” He pauses, laughing a bit to himself. “There was one time he didn’t even bother trying to hit my set because he knew it was off. He’s a dickhead, but I think I can learn a lot from him.” Osamu smirked at him.

“What? What are ya lookin’ like that for?”

He shook his head. “Nothin’. You just seem a bit star-struck by Sakusa-kun.”

“Well  _ yeah _ . Dude’s disgusting.”

“I thought he was a germaphobe.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “Not in that way, ya idiot. It was a compliment.”

“Can’t imagine you giving anyone a compliment.” Osamu teased, mindlessly wiping the counter with the dishcloth in hand. Atsumu put his hand up to his chest to defend himself, but then the air suddenly left his lungs, and he was clutching at his shirt as he coughed.

“Don’t eat so damn fast, then.” Osamu rolled his eyes, pushing his glass closer to him. Atsumu kept coughing, covering his mouth as his chest tightened, and a fluttering feeling leapt through his throat, like he swallowed a feather. His eyes were burning as he coughed, and a couple patrons had stopped their meals to turn their heads in the twins’ direction. Osamu had leapt around the counter, patting his brother’s back. The pain was astronomical, like no other cough he has ever experienced. His chest was on fire, as he hacked and coughed, clutching to every last bit of air he could get. He felt something thin and soft graze his tongue and the roof of his mouth, and finally fall into his hand. He paused, air finally filling back into his lungs.

“What the hell, Tsumu? Ya tryin to make my ratings go down?” Osamu whispered behind them. Some patrons were still looking over at the commotion, but eventually went back to their dinners. Atsumu pulled his hand back from his face, and his face twisted in confusion at what was in his hand.

A single, yellow flower petal, accompanied by specks of blood. His blood.

Osamu must have seen it, too, because the hand on his back freezes.

“What the hell is that?” He whispers. Atsumu is quiet. He’s at a loss. He didn’t eat any flowers, that he last knew of. His brother would normally prank him by putting wasabi in his food, not a flower petal. He grazed his fingers over it, the wet, delicate petal soft and velvety in his hand.

Osamu placed the glass of sparkling water in his free hand. “Drink.” he mumbled, still staring at the petal. Atsumu obeyed, relishing in the relief the chilled carbonation gave his sore throat. He placed the glass back down.

“Still not goin’ to the doctor.”

***

It was later that night after he had settled in bed, the petal pressed between the pages of his one notebook, that Osamu texted him.

**Samu** **[11:38 pm]**

Hanahaki Disease. Look it up.

It sounded familiar, but only from fictional television shows they used to watch when they were younger. It only took one google search and Atsumu thought he was going to pass out.

_ Hanahaki Disease affects victims of unrequited love. The victim forms flowers in their lungs/stomach until the plant consumes their body and eventually kills them. _

Atsumu was going to throw up. Unrequited love? Since when did he love someone? Atsumu couldn’t even remember the last time he had a crush on anyone, besides maybe Kita in high school. Although, that was more of a respect type of thing. Kita was like the successful older brother he could look up to. He had never spared a single thought to dating. Between the obnoxious girls from his high school, and the team’s fangirls now, he was more or less turned off at the thought of dating. In fact, he didn’t even have anyone outside of the MSBY team that he was even close to, besides Osamu.

**Me [11:57 pm]**

Are ya sure? I don’t think I like anyone

**Samu [11:59 pm]**

That’s what Suna suggested. Doesn’t seem like it could be anything else.

**Samu [12:00am]**

Oh yeah. I told Suna about it.

  
  


Bastard. Not like he was surprised, though. Osamu practically told Suna everything. He was basically the Miya twins’ gossip bucket. He probably knew more about them than they did themselves. Although, Suna was never usually wrong about these kinds of things. Osamu told him and he probably went and scoured the internet for any kind of answer, but only after a ceremonious eye roll. 

But who would Atsumu even have a crush on? If it’s unrequited love, it would have to be someone who wouldn’t like him back. Definitely not some fangirl, then. He turned back to his laptop.

_ The only true cure for Hanahaki Disease is the beloved reciprocating genuine love- not just friendship. Surgery to remove the plant has been successful, but the victim may lose all feelings- romantic and friendly- for the beloved, as well as memories with them. The time span before the disease spreads completely can be between two weeks to two years. This depends on the current relationship with the beloved, as well as the frequency in which the victim is around the beloved. _

Atsumu sighed in slight relief. Maybe this was someone he doesn’t see often enough. If he figures out who it is, maybe he could just avoid them and it will go away.

_ The type of flower can vary, as it reflects the beloved. As time goes on and the disease spreads, the victim will go from coughing up petals, to fully bloomed flower heads, as the plants grows up through their lungs and into their esophagus.  _

Atsumu slammed his laptop shut, pushing it down to the foot of his bed.  _ Holy shit _ . He closed his eyes, pressing the butt of his palms into his eyelids until he saw stars. There was a plant growing in him. He was going to cough up full heads of flowers that resemble this person that he loves that he doesn’t even  _ know _ . 

**Me [12:21 am]**

What do I do?

**Samu [12:25 am]**

Find out who it is.

**Samu [12:26 am]**

Suna says we can also just go get the surgery done. He said it’s successful if you do it before it blooms fully.

Atsumu pulls out his notebook, flipping through until he finds the single petal, a pale and bright yellow. He thumbs over it again, feeling the velvety soft texture. It was a beautiful color, and the thought of someone he loves being represented by something so delicate and soft put a small smile to his face. He never experienced love before, especially not suffocating, hacking-up-physical-symbolisation-of-them love. The website had said that it could be cured with newfound reciprocation, after all. Maybe there actually was someone out there that he loved who loved him just the same. Besides, if he had the surgery, he might never even know who it is. He would lose all romantic feelings for them, as well as his memories of them. He couldn’t take the risk of losing someone who might actually turn out to feel the same way.

**Me [12:30 am]**

No. I’m going to find them.

  
  


***

  
  


It was two weeks until Atsumu was finally sure of who it was. In fact, he really should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve realized it sooner, with how obvious it was. Hinata has been in the back of Atsumu’s head ever since he played Karasuno forever ago during the high school nationals. After their loss, he pointed out Hinata on the court and promised that he would set for him one day. And here he was, doing exactly as he said. He was hopelessly crushing on this fiery, red headed monster, and was suffering a deadly disease because of it. It made perfect sense.

Of course, Osamu didn’t believe him at all.

“Hinata?” He questioned through the phone. Atsumu was lying in bed, tossing a ball in the air, phone perched between his shoulder and his ear. “Isn’t he involved with that guy from the Adler’s team?” Atsumu huffed, squeezing the volleyball tightly in his hands. His brother needed to stop stalking the collegiate volleyball fanpages online.

“I doubt he even thinks of Tobio-kun like that.” He released the ball, tossing it back up in the air to catch again. He heard Osamu sigh through the receiver.

“I’ll be honest, ‘Tsumu. I highly doubt that it’s Hinata.” Atsumu sat up, frowning.

“Why not? Ya think he’s too good for me or somethin’?”

“Well, no. That’s not what I meant…” 

“Then tell me what you mean, Osamu. Or better yet, what Suna is undoubtedly whisperin’ in your ear. He’s there, isn’t he?” He didn’t know why he was so mad, but the blood in his veins was boiling with rage. How dare he insult the guy he liked. What was so wrong with Hinata being the one for him? The sound of shuffling and whispered voices on the other line confirmed his suspicions, and served to make him even angrier.

“Atsumu.” Suna’s flat voice rang through the receiver, and Atsumu scoffed.

“I fuckin’ knew it. Well, then. Please, enlighten me, oh wise one.”

“Knock off the attitude.” Suna hissed. Atsumu rolled his eyes. “I know you like Hinata-kun, but don’t you think you would have experienced more symptoms since you hang out around him all of the time? And a lot sooner?”

Atsumu was silent as he gave it a thought. He did spend practically everyday with Hinata. He always stayed behind after practice to toss to him, as the others left at a normal time to get back to their own lives. Bokuto to get back to his boyfriend. Meian back to his wife. The others get back to whatever they had in their lives. Sakusa left earlier than most, but that was due to his whole germaphobe thing. He showered before the others too, to avoid their ‘germs’ or whatever. Sometimes he wished Sakusa would stay longer. Hinata always told him his tosses were perfect, but Sakusa told him when it was just slightly off.

Atsumu let out a huff of air, which then turned into a small fit of coughs. There was silence on the other end as he sorted through his fit, reaching over to his nightstand for his water bottle. He took a gulp to soother his throat.

“Well, we were literally just talking about him and I had a fit.” He says, voice husky from coughing.

“Okay, but how often do you cough when you’re around him?” Suna asks, voice growing more irritated. He heard his brother’s voice in the background ‘ _ forget it Rin, he’s too stupid’ _ .

“Never, really?” He thinks about it. He has never coughed in Hinata’s presence. Despite that one time after the super long rally that ended with Sakusa spiking through the blockers’ hands. He remembers watching that freaky wrist of his swing his hand against the ball, shooting the ball perfectly. The ball  _ he _ had set to him. It gave him such a strong feeling of pride when he could set a ball perfectly into his spiker’s hand like that. Maybe he was thinking of Hinata at the time, and how he always came up to where the ball was, no matter where Atsumu had set it to.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to do with when I’m around him.” He said. He heard his brother groan in the background. “I mean, I’ve never done it in front of him except for one time.”

“Where were you when that happened?” Suna asked, voice once again calm and flat. He was definitely more patient than Osamu was over the phone.

“At practice. We had a super long rally during a 3 on 3 and Omi-kun had scored the winning point. I dunno, I guess I was out of breath from trying to keep up with Hinata that I crumpled over.” He thinks back to Bokuto slapping him on the back, and handing him water. “I didn’t actually cough though, now that I think about it. But the pain in my chest was still there.”

“Atsumu, look.” Suna began after a moment of silence. “I’m not going to say that Hinata isn’t the one, but I want you to keep your eyes open. You tend to get tunnel vision in these situations, and only focus on the things you think are true, and end up ignoring things that lie in the periphery.”

“But-” Atsumu wanted to argue. Who else even was there to think about? The other players all had their own families and significant others to go home to. Really, it was just Sakusa who was left. He barely even came out on team bonding nights, let alone would he voluntarily spend time with Atsumu.

“Have you thought about looking up the flower yet?” Osamu’s voice came back into the speaker. Suna must’ve handed him the phone back.

“Uh, no. Gotta go.” He said promptly and hung up. God, he was so stupid. The flower was supposed to represent the person he was in love with! Of course it would make sense to look it up! He reached over to the drawer of his nightstand, opening it and pulling out a small glass jar with a small handful of yellow petals inside. Ever since that night at his brother’s restaurant, he’s coughed one up almost every night. He never fully remembers his dreams, but they involved something with volleyball and sleek, slender fingers reaching out to him, and then he wakes into a coughing fit, coughing upwards of two or three petals. Granted, they’re small petals, but the amount was alarming. At this rate, he was going to throw up a whole bushel of flowers soon.

He plucked a petal out of the jar, placing it delicately between his thumb and index finger. He’s not exactly an expert when it comes to plants of all things. If anything, he’s never really noticed flowers in general, besides the lilies his mother’s garden bloomed every year. And of course, the prompted scolding for trampling them while running around with Osamu. Still, those were pink and red and white. The petal in his hand was a pale yellow. The petals on the lilies his mother had were long and thin, while the one in his hand was wide and round. The first one he coughed up was barely any shape, while the newer ones looked like fully formed petals. They were round and curved, with a small ripple at the top. He scoured the internet with this description, holding the petal up to the screen against every yellow flower he found, until he finally found it.

A yellow peony.

It was beautiful. Big and round, with massive petals even bigger than what Atsumu has coughed up. There were tons of petals lining the bulb, the flower massive but elegant. Atsumu stared at the flower. Hinata was nothing like this flower. Sure, he was bright and loud and open about everything, but the peony had a softness to it. It was like the petals were there to protect it’s inner core. Multiple shields against the outside world. He searched for a website on flower meanings, and scrolled to the one in mind.

_ In Japan, peonies symbolize wealth, honor, good fortune, masculinity, and bravery. _

_ There are several common myths about peony. One myth claims that the flower is named after the Greek physician of the gods, Paeon. Paeon, a student of Aesculapius (who is the god of medicine), used a peony root to heal Pluto. His mentor Aesculapius became jealous of his skills and attempted to kill him. To thank Paeon for his work, Pluto turned him into a peony so that all people would praise and admire him. _

Geez. The Greeks were intense. Atsumu couldn’t think of a single person he knew who was so good at something that someone would try to kill them over it. His teammates were certainly talented. They had all made it to the collegiate league, and one of them was even considered an MVP. But no one was going to kill them over it. Not to mention the part about symbolizing wealth, honor, good fortune, masculinity, and bravery.  _ That could be anyone! _ Atsumu wanted to yell at his laptop. Still, he stared at it again, placing a hand on his chest as he thought about the representation of his affections slowly growing inside him.

After that, things got more difficult. No matter what he did, he couldn’t figure out who it was. He had finally written off Hinata, as he tenderly noticed how easy it was for him to breathe around him. Suna had told him to quit the tunnel vision and focus on what was going on in the background, right? But there was nothing to notice. He watched his other teammates during practices, drills, practice matches, water breaks, but no one stood out to him. They either all had other lovers, or were like, Sakusa. Nothing added up. Not to mention, he had not coughed up any petals, despite the various fits he would find himself in during practices. It was strange to think that the disease was slowly going away, as he still didn’t even know who it was. It almost worried him, as he thought that this could mean he was falling out of love. But how could you fall out of love with someone when you don’t even know who it is you were in love with in the first place?

It confused him. It drove him insane trying to piece things together in his head. He was somewhat considering the surgery, but the thought of forgetting one of his teammates held him back. He couldn’t take the chance that it was actually one of his teammates, and he would forget all the memories they had. He couldn’t do that.  _ No _ , he thought as the team posed together after a sweaty practice for a group photo for the twitter page. He saw the photo online later, adorned with the caption  _ “The Jackals are set and ready for the grand face off with Schweiden Adlers this Saturday! Don’t forget to grab a seat to witness this grand match!” _

He smiled at all of his friends grouped together in one photo, with sweat beaded on their foreheads and goofy grins plastered on their face. Sakusa even looked somewhat pleased, standing off to the side with a small, soft smile on his lips, curls laced with sweat sticking to his forehead. That night, Atsumu coughed up the first petal in weeks.

The game was awesome, of course. They slaughter the Adlers with an impressive 3-1 score. The win has Atsumu cheering with Bokuto, and high fiving Hinata. He runs over to Sakusa, who is being handed something from a fan, and barely remembers his no-touch rule before Sakusa turns around and nearly bumps into him.

“We win again! Nice game, Omi-kun.” He settles on, placing his hands on his hips and grinning widely. Sakusa, maskless after just finishing the game, smirks back at him, and  _ man, he must be really happy about winning if he’s gonna smile like that _ . 

“Yeah. Good game.” He says, and turns to make his way back to the fans and interviewers. As he turns, it’s the pale yellow that catches his eye. Atsumu freezes, and his stomach plummets as he notices what’s clutched in Sakusa’s slender hands.

A bouquet of yellow peonies.

_ No, that can’t be right _ .  _ It had to be a coincidence _ . 

“Oh yeah, I just had to give those to Sakusa-senpai!” a girl’s voice said to her friend. Atsumu stared at the flowers, clutched in the crook of Sakusa’s arm as he answered an interviewer’s questions.

“They’re his absolute favorite!”

“Oh yeah, yellow peonies, right? Like it says on the wikipedia page?”

“Yeah, and did you see the way he blushed when I gave them to him? Ugh, he’s so dreamy!”

The girls giggled as they walked off, leaving Atsumu still staring at the bouquet, and then back up to Sakusa’s face. The smooth jawline, framing his stone cold pale face. His mouth was turned into a flat line as he listened to the Interviewer’s questions, dark eyes focused in, and equally dark curls plastered to his forehead from the sweat. He looked vaguely uncomfortable, and Atsumu could guess why. Even he wanted a shower right now. But interviews were somewhat required post-game.

Somehow, Atsumu managed to hold his earth-shattering panic within as he was interviewed. He avoided glancing over at Sakusa clutching to the exact same flowers that plagued Atsumu’s lungs. He narrowly avoided coughing, managing a quick throat clearing noise each time a question mentioned the curly haired wing spiker. He managed to keep his cool in the locker room as well, but mostly kept quiet as the others cheered and whooped at their victory.

He watched from behind his open locker door as Sakusa neatly packed all of his things together, black curls still dripping from the shower he took. He was the first one to shower, like always, but seemed to take the longest as he neatly packed all of his things together in his duffel, sanitizing his hands and producing a fresh mask to loop around his ears. It was the usual white surgical mask that he always wore. He probably had hundreds of them hoarded away in his apartment, along with hand sanitizers and gloves, like some kind of doomsday prepper. It was strange to Atsumu how he could be so cautious all the time. Sure, Atsumu carried his own hand sanitizer around, and kept his personal hygiene intact like any other athlete going pro would. It was important to keep his body healthy, just like going to the gym and eating a specific diet.

But Sakusa was always overly cautious. He’s been a germaphobe since probably before Atsumu had even met him that first time at the All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp. They were both 16 at the time, but even back then he knew there was something special about him. He marked it off as respect for such a talented wing spiker, carrying himself highly through the ranks in high school and now in college. Atsumu thinks of all the times he’s tried to receive those nasty spikes, or when he’s watched Sakusa’s pale and slender fingers form a flat shape as he flicks his wrist to get that precise aim. And then Atsumu remembers how he’d glance up to his face, paging his expressions during the fleeting time that he gets to see Sakusa without a mask. His thin lips curled into a small frown as he calculated a shot. The way his lips part ever so slightly when he’s about to jump, legs bent at the knee, and long arms whisked behind him, sweat dripping down his temple. The small smirk compromising his lips after he hits a precise shot, black eyes alight with pride.

It’s like a bucket of ice water to the face. Atsumu knows what’s coming as he feels the air escape his lungs once again.

_ I’m in love with Sakusa _ .

He slaps a hand to his mouth as he scrambles in the opposite direction of his newfound attraction. He stumbles his way around the others to the door, ignoring Hinata’s concerned callouts of his name. He scrambles down the hall, bursting through the bathroom door, thankful that it’s empty as he trips over himself into a stall and locks the door behind him. Falling to his knees, Atsumu finally lets out the cough he’s been holding in, clutching the brim of the toilet seat as various yellow petals flutter out of his mouth, drenched in his blood and spit. Tears spill out his eyes and down his cheeks as he retches. The pain spreads throughout his already sore body, and he tenses, back arching against the toilet as he feels something much larger than a petal lodged in his throat.

He’s in love with Sakusa. He’s in love with someone who would  _ never _ reciprocate those feelings for  _ anyone _ , let alone Atsumu. Annoying Atsumu, who mocks him with nicknames, teases him about his phobia, and goes out of his way to tick Sakusa off. He has never once given Sakusa any reason to like him- not even as a friend. He was in love with a man who looks at him the same way he’d look at gum stuck to his shoe. He probably thinks of Atsumu the same way a dog thinks about a flea. It hurt. It hurt so much.

His eyes stung with tears. Snot and spit dribbled down his chin as he hacked. He squeezed his eyes shut, riding out the pain as he coughed up the large block in his throat. It tumbled down his tongue and out his mouth, falling into the bowl with a quiet  _ plop _ of the water. He kept his eyes shut as he regained his breath, slumping against the bowl, resting his cheek on the cold plastic of the seat. The strong metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue, along with the earthy taste of the spare petals stuffed against his cheek and slick against the roof of his mouth. He gathered enough spit in his mouth to swish it around, grabbing the spare petals and blood, spitting into the bowl. Only then did he open his eyes and gasp.

Gingerly, he reached into the bowl and pulled out the flower head, drenched in blood and spit and the toilet water. It was big in size, but not nearly as close to the size of the heads in the bouquet the fan had handed over. It’s petals were ripped apart, few to none left along the head itself, the bulb exposed and matted together. This was only a small head compared to the real deal, but it still had left Atsumu near the brink of passing out. He couldn’t help comparing his own flower to Sakusa’s- with his own flower laying limp, dejected and dying in his hands while Sakusa’s were bright and healthy. Sakusa, who was so terribly out of his league, that he couldn’t even cough up flowers of the same degree as his.

Lost in thought, Atsumu had barely noticed the bathroom door open, until footsteps approached and a tender but firm knock came to his stall door. Panicked, his fingers slipped and he dropped the flower head back into the toilet.

“Miya?” Meian’s voice came, and Atsumu nearly sighed in relief. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that was Sakusa on the other side. Although, he can’t imagine Sakusa following him into the bathroom anyways, or even looking in his direction when he had ran out in his frenzy. “You alright in there?”

Atsumu sniffed, wiping the snot and drool from his face, realizing the tears were still falling from his eyes. He tried to blink them away. “‘M fine.” He barely recognized his own voice. He sounded raspy and guttural.

“Alright. Team’s headed out for drinks to celebrate.” Meian laughs a little, as if he remembered a private joke. “I made a deal with Barnes, so now I owe everyone their first two rounds.” He pauses a moment, and Atsumu scrambles to think of an excuse to get out of this. There’s no way he can go out like this. He needed to call his brother. Or Suna. Or maybe a doctor.

“Sakusa’s coming, too, if that piques your interest.” Meian adds, and  _ wow, he must be a sadist if he thinks Atsumu is gonna put himself through hell like that _ . He doesn’t know, though. He probably thinks Atsumu is just sick.

Wait, that’s perfect.

“As enticing as that is, yer gon’ have ta survive without me.” Atsumu gets out, his accent thickening as he struggles to straighten out his wavering voice. “Think ‘Samu fed me rat poison yesterday.”

Meian laughs, and Atsumu wipes the dried tears from his cheeks. Should he pretend to throw up for good measure? One thought of Sakusa and he might start retching again. His breath hitches at the idea.

“Alright, then. Tell your brother that he could’ve waited another day. Atleast you won our last game of the season before it took effect.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Atsumu mumbles out. Meian stops laughing.

“Make sure you go home and rest, then. I don’t need my starting setter going down all because of some little brotherly prank.” That’s hardly close to how Atsumu would describe his situation right now. He hears Meian’s footsteps walk towards the door.

“Aye aye, cap’n.” He mumbles out, and it’s not until he hears the door swing shut that he lets himself slump back against the wall. He pulls the collar of his shirt up to wipe the rest of his face off, sweat and blood and tears and snot and drool mixing together. He’s exhausted. Between the intense match they just had, and the contents of his newest fit floating in the bowl, his body felt like a sandbag. His limbs felt full of lead, his arms drooping at his sides. He glanced back to the bowl. If he had the surgery, he might never remember anything about Sakusa again. Hell, it might not even be fully successful. 

The thought of Sakusa’s memory leaving his brain, like a folder on a desktop screen dropped into the recycling bin, unnerved him. He couldn’t just forget him. Not after just now realizing it was him. Besides, he definitely couldn’t forget someone who he was on the same team as. He’d have to take time off from the team to readjust, and tell their coach. No, he didn’t want to tell anyone. His eyes traced the various petals that lined the water in the bowl, splayed across the seat, and the few that littered the tiled floor. He had gone for almost a week without any petals, and now he had produced so many- even a full head. He had thought that his affections were going away, since he couldn’t figure out who it was. He knew Sakusa wouldn’t reciprocate his love, but maybe he could make his own feelings fade.

He slowly made his way to his feet, groaning at the stretch in his limbs. He picked up the petals on the ground, dropping them in the bowl as he swiped the ones adorning the seat in the water as well. He took one last look at the mess he’s created- his inner turmoil represented in a mass of yellow and red- before promptly flushing, watching the evidence swirl down until it was all gone.

_ That’s enough of that _ .

Since the team and mostly everyone else was already gone, Atsumu didn’t have to sneak around too much, promptly shoving his things into his bag before high tailing it out of there. When he got back to his apartment, he didn’t even bother locking the door or changing into loungewear as he made his way into his bedroom. He flopped onto his bed, curling under the covers, and instead of noting the flutter in his throat, he did what he does best- ignore it and sleep.

He woke up in a delirious panic. It was past midnight. He was shivering-  _ freezing _ \- but the sweat on his upper lip contradicted that. Pain stretched out in a hot flash against his chest, like he was slashed with a whip. His eyesight was foggy as he stumbled around his room, pulling on warm joggers and a hoodie. He thought about socks for a moment, before promptly ripping off his own, sighing in content at the feeling of the cool wooden floor beneath his toes. It sent a shiver up his spine, but he ignored it in favor of heading to the bathroom. He reached in his medicine cabinet for some pain reliever, throwing back three or four pills before sticking his head under the faucet like an animal, swallowing the pills under a mouthful of tap water. It was then that he noticed the dry crack in his throat, heavy and thick like he used to feel when he had the flu as a child. 

He’d only ever been sick once, and it had left him bedridden for a week, pouting miserably as Osamu left for school each morning and returned late in the evening from after-school volleyball camp. After that, Atsumu treated his body like a temple, never letting himself fall enough to get sick again. How had he gotten this bad? This sickness was putting him in a worse state than ever.  _ Ignore it _ , he thought to himself,  _ it’ll go away. Just don’t think about it. _

Atsumu walked into his living room and fell onto the couch. As small as his apartment was, he was still able to fit a few pieces of furniture in there. He switched on the TV, hoping for something to distract him. He settled on the cooking channel, watching as a lady rolled out dough for dumplings. His eyelids grew heavy, as he focused on her pale slender fingers forming the shapes of the dumplings.

When he woke again, it was to a hand pressed against his cheek. He wasn’t shivering anymore, but beads of sweat laced his brows and temples, his whole body feeling like a hot ball of fire. He groggily opened his eyes, hearing a voice calling out to him.

“Atsumu.”

His breath hitched as he focused on Sakusa sitting next to him on the couch, thumb stroking his cheek. His hand was stark cold against Atsumu’s blazing face, but he didn’t care. He stretched a hand up to touch him, to hold his hand there, leaning into the touch.

“Omi…” He mumbled, blinking through heavy lids and foggy eyes. He tried to focus on the man leaning over him. He was adorned in that ugly highlighter yellow jacket from his high school, and for once he wasn’t wearing a mask. His skin was glowing in the morning light streaming through the windows. It was blinding Atsumu- causing him to wince at the bright light invading his retinas. His sight was still blurry, his only focus being on Sakusa leaning over him. 

“Atsumu, I know your secret.” He said, lips twitching up into a twisted smile. It didn’t feel right. It felt  _ fake _ . He was  _ mocking _ him. The hand on his face suddenly felt rough and calloused. Sakusa’s eyes were glaring down into him, his lips formed into a cruel, ever knowing smirk.

Atsumu shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again, trailing his hand up Sakusa’s arm until he reached his face, cupping his cheek in his hand. Sakusa raised his eyebrows, and Atsumu traced his fingers over his lips. They weren’t necessarily what he had imagined, feeling chapped and dry. His fingers were feeling something entirely different than what he was seeing with his eyes. 

“Um.. What the fuck is he doing?” A voice said. It wasn’t Sakusa’s. Did he say something? He couldn’t remember his own mouth moving. He opened his mouth involuntarily, his tongue feeling dry and heavy, like there was a rock in his mouth.

“I think he’s hallucinating.” another voice said, and Atsumu’s face twisted in confusion and panic. Sakusa was still smiling down at him, his hand moving away from Atsumu’s face. He instinctively grabbed at Sakusa’s cheek, clutching the man in the only way he could. He couldn’t breathe, like he had just caught a nasty receive with his chest.

“ _ Omi _ .” He whined at the loss of Sakusa’s touch, squeezing his eyes shut, only to gasp when Sakusa’s hand came back in a distinct  _ slap _ across his face. It stung, but it knocked some of the fogginess from his head. He scrunched his eyes shut, tears springing from his eyes. He’d never been slapped by Sakusa despite the many times he’s sure the other had wanted to, but now he realized it felt a million times worse than he could have ever imagined.

“Don’t slap him. He’s delirious.”

“Well, I ain’t lettin’ him feel me up like that!”

“He thought you were Sakusa-kun.”

“Well, ‘m not  _ him _ now, am I, Rin?”

Atsumu opened his eyes, wincing at the different bright light streaming in through the windows. Sakusa wasn’t there. Leaning over him sat his brother, frowning down at him like he just ate his pudding.  _ What- where did Omi go? _

“‘Samu?” He grumbled, bringing up a hand to rub at his eyes. His hand came back slick with sweat. God, he felt disgusting. He didn’t even want to know what he looked like right now.

“What the fuck did you do. Meian texted me last night accusing me of  _ poisoning _ you.” Osamu crossed his arms, scoffing. “Maybe I  _ should _ poison you.”

“That’s not helping, Osamu.” Suna’s voice came flatly. Atsumu turned his head, noting Suna leaning over the back of the couch, just out of his periphery. He groaned, pulling his hood down over his eyes. He didn’t want to think about yesterday, or his epiphany after the match, or the fact that he can’t feel his legs, and his head feels light and dizzy. He almost felt nauseous, remembering the shots of dumpling filling he had seen before passing out. The memory made his stomach drop, and Atsumu thought for a fearful second that he was going to retch.

Instead of throwing up, Atsumu leans over to his side and huffs out a cough, the air escaping his lungs once again as he hacks up what is unmistakably a petal or two. They flutter to the floor next to the couch, but Atsumu doesn’t have the mind to watch them.

Osamu and Suna watch him with alerted eyes, glancing at each other in panic before moving to help him sit upright. Osamu is mumbling something about him being an idiot, but Atsumu isn’t in the right headspace to care. Suna is on his other side, pouring something syrupy from a bottle into a spoon.

“Can you open your mouth, Atsumu?” Suna asks, and Atsumu obeys, letting his mouth fall open tiredly.

“Oh god, is that blood?” His brother hisses from his left. Atsumu closes his eyes as he feels the metal spoon slide into his mouth, tilting back until a nasty, cherry flavored syrup spills in his mouth and down his throat. The flavor makes him shiver and scrunch his face in disgust. He almost spits it out, but Suna’s hand appears over his mouth to stop him.

“Swallow.” Suna orders, calmly ignoring Osamu’s grossed out whispers. Atsumu swallows, cringing at the disgusting flavor and the burning sensation as the syrup slides down his throat. “That should help a little bit.”

“Yer so good at this.” Atsumu mumbles, eyes fluttering shut, despite his brother’s protests to  _ keep yer eyes open, dammit _ . “Ya should be a doctor.”

Suna huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well I have to be able to take care of you too if I’m marrying into this stupid family.”

“Rin!” Osamu hisses. “I haven't told him yet.” Atsumu furrows his brows, but lets them relax when hands move to help him stand up.

“Oh, please. He’s not going to remember any of this.” Suna said. They each lifted one of Atsumu’s arms over their shoulders and lifted him into a standing position, leading him to what he assumed was his bedroom. His guess was confirmed when they set him down on his bed, pulling his comforter over him. Atsumu sighed, dropping his head against his pillow, fully ready to let himself fall under the blanket of unconsciousness, until fingers snapped in front of his face. He opened his eyes.

“Wha..”

“I’m scheduling the surgery.” Osamu declared, and Atsumu sat up in a panic, aching arms reaching out.

“No!” He shouted, voice raspy as if using it for the first time in years. Suna pressed him back down into the bed, shaking his head.

“We won’t make you get the surgery. Lay back down.” He said calmly. He allowed himself to fall back into his mattress, head hitting the pillow.

“No doctors.” Atsumu mumbled, nestling his head into the satin fabric of his pillow. “‘Don’ wanna forget ‘im.” He let his eyes close, the medicine working it’s magic. His throat felt numb, and his head was hazy. He felt himself drifting off as the voices began to fade in his ears.

“Did you see all those petals? He’s going to  _ die _ , Rin. What- what do we do?”

“I know what we have to do. But he’s not going to like it.”

He stays in his bed mostly for the next few days, only getting up to head to the bathroom, or- at Osamu and Suna’s discretion- sit up to eat something. When they aren’t there, Atsumu sleeps. His dreams are swampy scenes mixed from real memories and what he’s sure are hallucinations. Small memories of Sakusa appear, from the snide remarks he makes when Atsumu is teasing him, to the way he separates the rice from the vegetables in his bento box every time before he begins to eat his lunch.

The memories swirl and warp into moments Atsumu knows aren’t real- Sakusa smiling tenderly at him at a team dinner, catching him smirking at one of Atsumu’s various stupid jokes. He curses himself when he awakens from these dreams, screaming at himself to  _ ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it  _ until his voice is horse and all he can do is fall back to his pillow to let sleep take over his body once again.

He thinks that maybe he’ll eventually get over it, that one day the dreams will stop, and he will get better, and can leave his stupid room. In a fit of rage, he catapults the jar on his nightstand across the room, hearing it shatter against the wall, old and decrepit petals fluttering to the floor. He turns towards the wall next to his bed, refusing to look over at the mess he made in his desperate state, and forces himself back to sleep once again.  _ He can sleep it away.  _

***

A hand grazes his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. Osamu again, he guesses. Was it past closing time already? It didn’t seem like it was that late. He wordlessly shifts around, blearily glancing at the figure sitting on the edge of his bed.

_ Ah shit, not again _ . He rubs his eyes, but sure enough, he’s still hallucinating.

“I haven’t seen you at practice.” And Atsumu groans at how accurate his voice sounds. Bored and judgy, like Sakusa normally was. He had a mask on this time, too, and casual athletic wear, the jacket zipped up to his neck like the real Sakusa would. How begrudgingly accurate his mind decided to be today.

“Yer wearin’ a mask.” Atsumu mumbles, ignoring the half question that fake Sakusa had posed. Sakusa’s brows furrow, the two moles on his forehead moving in time with them. Atsumu wordlessly reaches a hand out, pressing his thumb to them and straightens out the crease in between his brows. Fake Sakusa seems to look at him in shock. He drops his hand back down, suddenly exhausted from the simple movement.

“If only the real Omi was here.” He mused, head lolling to the side. He realizes the medicine Osamu made him take this morning must’ve worn off or something, as he finds himself clutching at his chest, coughs echoing through the room. He sits upright, oblivious to the panicked expression on Sakusa’s face as he hacks. Leaves and petals fall into his hands, and he’s just thankful there isn’t a whole flower head blocking out his throat this time. He closes his eyes again, leaning on Sakusa’s shoulder. He’s surprised to find how warm it is, considering how icy he had felt every other time he hallucinated him. An arm hesitantly wraps around him and holds him there, and it’s only then that Atsumu realizes the tears spilling down his cheeks. He drops the petals in favor of clutching at Sakusa’s arm. A disgruntled noise comes from the other.

“You’re getting your blood on my sleeve.”

Atsumu laughs, thick and muddled as tears flow fervently from his eyes. “You even sound like him. He would never even let me touch him.” His fingers graze the sleeve of his jacket, as he smiles crookedly to himself. The real Sakusa would probably push him off and tell him to go wash his hands.  _ Good, ol’ dependable Omi-kun.  _

“Well, I  _ am _ letting you touch me, aren’t I?” His hand rubs somewhat comforting circles on his back, and Atsumu lets out a hysterical giggle.

“I like this Omi-kun.” He nuzzles his head into Sakusa’s shoulder, breathing in what he assumes is his brain’s idea of what Sakusa might actually smell like. “More realistic. All i need is fer ya to tell me to wash my hands or somethin’.”

“A shower would be more reasonable. You look like you haven’t left this bed in weeks.”

Atsumu hums in response. His body felt weak. His muscles ached from days and days of fever, and he was sure that he was on his last limb. He couldn’t avoid it forever. It was clearly too late for surgery, and there was no way the illness was going away anytime soon. It suddenly dawned on Atsumu to just give in. Perhaps, he should have gotten the surgery as soon as he found out, or not have wasted so much time focusing on the wrong guy. But that was all in the past. The only thing he had right now was Sakusa’s form, his distinctly steady breathing and speedy heartbeat.

“If I never see ya again,” Atsumu begins, but he’s interrupted.

“Shut up. Stop acting like you’re going to die.”

“Mmm, Omi-Omi.” He preens, moving his head back to smile dopily up at the other man. He notices Sakusa’s mask is gone.  _ Hmm. I must’ve manifested it to go away _ . He reaches up and presses a single finger to Sakusa’s mouth, tracing his lips with his fingers. Sakusa’s expression is hard to read. Normally, his hallucinations of the other have always smiled at him, but this one held an expression somewhere between timid shock and disarray.

“Yer always so mean to me.”

Sakusa blinks, mouth turning downwards into a small frown, and  _ fuck. He’s pouting _ .

“I’m sorry.”

Atsumu shakes his head, blinking slowly. “Nah, I forgive ya. I’ll make a deal with ya though, Omi.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Ya can bully me all yer lil’ heart desires if ya promise ta love me back.”

Sakusa’s face softens, lips twisting into the smallest of smiles, more genuine than any of the ones Atsumu’s disease-ridden brain has concocted so far. It makes him melt. All the pain and torture, the aches and hot flashes completely wipe away as his heart melts at this expression. He could cry again.

“Okay.” Sakusa says, pulling Atsumu back in to rest on his shoulder. “Deal.”

Atsumu closes his eyes, hugging Sakusa tighter, holding onto those two words like they tied a knot along a long string, holding together his fate at the very seams.

***

When he woke up again, it was like the past week had been a dream. He felt rejuvenated, like he had never even been sick in the first place. Assessing himself, his head felt less foggy. He wasn’t sweating or shivering, and his mouth didn’t taste like he had just licked the underneath of a shoe. He sat up, noting the new blanket and fresh sheets on the bed. Glancing around his bedroom, he noted the cleanliness of what was once his disease-ridden cave. The glass jar he had smashed was nowhere to be seen, the remnants of his stash of petals disappeared. There was a vase perched on his nightstand, and with one glance at it, Atsumu’s hand instinctively cupped his mouth, bracing himself for the pain of another attack. 

He blinked. Nothing came.

The vase held a bouquet of yellow peonies. Horror struck Atsumu as he stared at the very thing that has been slowly killing him from the inside the past few months. The thing that he was pretty sure he was going to die from. Why didn’t he die? Is he just in a really fucked up version of heaven?

“They’re not going to kill you.” A voice sounds from the doorway and Atsumu glances over, freezing at the sight. 

He’s definitely dead. He died and went to heaven, because Sakusa Kiyoomi was leaning against the doorframe to his bedroom, in nothing but black joggers and a threadbare maroon tshirt. It takes Atsumu a moment to realize that it’s  _ his _ tshirt. Sakusa Kiyoomi was wearing his old Inarizaki tshirt and probably  _ his _ joggers, leaning against  _ his _ door frame. He felt faint. Maybe he really was still sick.

“Please don’t pass out again.” Sakusa said, crossing his arms. There was something different about him, his shoulders hunched forward like he would when hiding in the corner from a crowd before a game. His eyebrows were turned downward in an expression of worry, his mouth turned down in a small pout. It took Atsumu a moment to realize that Sakusa felt  _ awkward _ . 

_ What was he even doing here? _

“I-I’m good.” He muttered, breathless in a way he hasn’t been in a while. Not breathless in the way of the air literally being torn from his lungs. Not breathless in lieu of coughing up enough flowers to put that bouquet next to him to shame. Breathless in a way that only Sakusa can make him feel.

Sakusa nodded at him, leaning off the doorframe to walk into the room. He made his way over to Atsumu, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. Atsumu clutched the blanket in his fists.  _ What the hell?  _ He genuinely wanted to look around for cameras in case this was a prank. A cruel prank, but he wouldn’t put it past some people. Did he piss off Osamu while he was sick?

“How do you feel?” Sakusa asked, folding his hands in his lap awkwardly.  _ This is so weird. _

“F-fine. What- what are you doing here?” Atsumu asked. He didn’t want to be rude, but it wasn’t every day that Sakusa of all people would show up at his apartment, wearing  _ his _ clothes, and presumably having cleaned up the joint while Atsumu was asleep. 

Sakusa pursed his lips, as if trying to decide how to answer this question.

“Your brother called me.” 

_ Oh. Of course Osamu had something to do with this.  _ This time, he did glance around the room again, scanning for hidden cameras. Or maybe a sign that said  _ ‘Gotchya!’ _ .

“Don’t get mad.” Sakusa said, holding his palms up to stop Atsumu from whatever fit he probably thought he was going to throw. He wasn’t wrong. Atsumu was going to kill his brother when he saw him again. “I’m glad he did.”

Atsumu paused, dropping the blanket in his hands. “Really? Why?”

Sakusa cleared his throat, narrowly avoiding eye contact. Atsumu furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Omi?”

Sakusa glanced back over at him and sighed. It was weird to see him like this. He was like a totally different person compared to how Atsumu normally saw him. His features were softened, instead of the usual harsh lines set between his brows.

“Hanahaki Disease.” Sakusa said finally. Atsumu blinked.

“That’s what you had, right?” In lieu of an answer, Sakusa continued. “Osamu called me up saying he needed me to drop by to make sure you were still alive. He didn’t tell me what you were sick with, but I figured it out eventually.”

Silence.

“I almost didn’t come, but I guess I just had to make sure you were okay, too. You weren’t coming to practice anymore and I was getting worried. Coach said you were sick and wouldn’t tell us anything else. Honestly, I think that’s all he knew anyways.”

Atsumu was stunned. So he hadn’t hallucinated it? Sakusa had been there that whole time?  _ Then that means…. _

“You got blood all over my jacket.” Sakusa’s nose scrunched up in disgust. “That’s why I stole your clothes.” He paused. This was the most he’s heard Sakusa speak in one sitting. 

“They’re also fairly comfortable. I guess that’s probably because they’re yours.”

Atsumu rubbed his hands over his face, running them through his hair. His head hurt trying to process all of this.

“I’m confused. I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Sakusa huffed, pulling Atsumu’s hands away from his face. His slender fingers wrapped around his wrists, and Atsumu gasped, his face feeling hot as Sakusa’s eyes bore into him.

“I’m saying that I love you, idiot.” Sakusa says, using the same tone as if he was scolding him for flopping a serve.

“I-what?” Atsumu blinks, incredulous. Was he hallucinating again? This was probably the weirdest one yet, then. Definitely the most realistic, though. Props to his brain for supplying a more realistic version of Sakusa each time. Hell, the grip on his wrists even felt real. 

“Stop overthinking it.” Sakusa said, dark eyes staring into his own. Atsumu gulped and nodded. Sakusa released his grip on Atsumu’s wrists, instead reaching up to cup his cheeks in his palms.

“Omi…” He didn’t want to believe this. He couldn’t believe this.

“Shut up.” Sakusa shoots back, pausing for a second at the way Atsumu flinches at his words. “You said I could bully you, right? Do you remember our deal?”

In a distant, hazy way, Atsumu does remember. He remembers the arm wrapped around him as he had coughed, finger pads rubbing small circles on his back. He remembered the way Sakusa had smiled at him. A small, soft smile, reserved only for him at that moment. He remembered what they had promised. 

_ Sakusa really did love him _ .

That’s why he had woken up feeling better than he has in weeks. That’s why he wasn’t choking on petals, and the taste of blood had left his tongue. That’s why his fever had broken and he wasn’t dead. 

“I love you, Omi.” Atsumu blurted out, like if he didn’t say it fast enough the words might escape him. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I know.” Sakusa said, a calm half smirk on his face. One look at his dark eyes and Atsumu was shamelessly spilling his guts.

“I thought at first that it was Hinata, and then I was so confused for the longest time, but I think I was just repressing everything because-” 

Sakusa was shushing him, shaking his head. But Atsumu couldn’t stop, feeling his face do a funny thing as his voice went shaky.

“I-I was ignoring the way I felt. I think I’ve felt it for a long time. A really really long time, Omi, and-” He laughed, the sound coming out wet. “And I thought you’d never  _ ever _ even  _ think _ about me like that. I mean, who would?”

At this, Sakusa placed a thumb over Atsumu’s lips, shushing him again.

“Shut up. Of course I love you, you idiot.”

He leaned forward, pressing their lips together. Atsumu’s eyes fluttered shut, as he gripped the front of Sakusa’s- well,  _ his _ \- shirt. He clinged to him like he might die if he disappeared. He had almost died. Sakusa had just barely saved him, swooping in while Atsumu had been on the brink of death. But here he was, tasting his lips and holding him in his grasp.

He was alive, and Sakusa loved him. He couldn’t believe it. It felt unreal.

Sakusa broke apart from him, breath puffing heavily against Atsumu’s cheeks. “Believe it.” He whispered, as if reading Atsumu’s personal thoughts was second nature to him.

So Atsumu leaned back in, rejoining their lips, and let himself believe.

**Author's Note:**

> So I picked yellow peonies for the flower because of the meaning, but also they would look so cute in Sakusa's dark curls gahhhh okay. I'm fine. I'm good.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave a kudos and comment if ya'd like. Send me your headcannons on tumblr: @softhorts
> 
> Also: give my other work "Baby, You got Issues" a read! It's a slow-burn WIP but I'm putting a lot more effort into that than I did with this.


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